


The Seventh Dragon

by forestgreen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, Gen, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forestgreen/pseuds/forestgreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, Steve was tolerated, needed even, but he wasn't one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Claiming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akelios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akelios/gifts).



> This story wouldn't exist without the magnificent **akelios** , who held my hand, brainstormed with me and offered the best beta help any writer could wish for. There are whole parts in this story that wouldn't exist without her. 
> 
> The story was written for the Cap/Iron Reverse BigBang 2013. The gorgeous art that inspired it was made by the talented [seasaltpepper](http://seasaltpepper.tumblr.com)

The tall turrets and spires of Shield shone like onyx in the dying light of the day. Steve's knees sagged and he fell, wheezing and panting for breath. The forest's ground, covered with a thick mantle of wet and rotting leaves, felt slimy and cold beneath his fingers. Pain lashed from Steve's wrist up his arm when he tried to push himself to his feet. He screamed and curled on himself, cradling his wrist in a useless attempt to ease the pain. 

Tears of frustration and exhaustion welled in Steve's eyes. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the castle. If he concentrated, he could feel the strength of its magic beckoning him. 

Steve's body refused to move. Inside his head, his mother's voice berated him, trying to talk reason into him, cajoling him to activate the charm that would take him home … except that there was nobody home waiting for him. 

The charm pulsed against the clammy skin of Steve's chest—its reddish light becoming brighter as the darkness of the night crept closer. If he took it off, he'd be back in Brook. Shield and the Claiming nothing but a distant dream to tell his children, if he ever had any. The town's people wouldn't even laugh at him—not like they had when Steve walked to Shield's sorcerer and asked for his right to Claim. Sickly Steve with legs like twigs that could barely hold his skinny frame wanting to claim a dragon. Their loud, merry laughter had followed him to the edge of the village. He'd heard them making bets on how soon he'd be back with his tail between his legs. 

No! Steve wouldn't give up. He'd climb the mountain and reach Shield even if it killed him. Death would be better than a life filled with regrets and might-have-been's. He would become an Avenger. 

He forced himself up, ignoring the pain in his wrist and the burning in his lungs. The magic of Shield called to him like a siren song filled with promises of better days. The castle seemed like a mirage, faraway and unreachable, but Steve didn't despair. Instead he concentrated on making it to the next tree. And then to the one that followed. And the one after that. He stumbled and fell, scraping his hands and knees, but he rose again, refusing to give up when his dream was just one tree away. 

By the time Steve made it to Shield, the moon shone bright in the cloudless night sky, giving an eerie gleam to the black stones of the castle's walls. The moat surrounding the castle was wider than Brook's puny lake. The moonlight danced over the surface of the water, bathing the lower walls of the castle in silver light. A huge barbican rose from the depths of the moat like a small island. All of Brook would have fitted perfectly within its bailey. Farther away, Shield's main fortress rose, imposing and breathtaking, everything Steve had ever dreamed and yet so much more. 

"Assemble!" Steve screamed at the top of his lungs, clutching the charm with his muddy hands. He waited, eyes riveted on the faraway parapets, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement. 

Nothing happened. 

Steve screamed the watchword again and again with mounting despair. Shield's sorcerer had promised. He'd sworn that if the Claimers made it to the castle and called out the word, Shield would welcome them, claiming them back in return. 

"What's this raucous?" a man said from behind Steve. "Who're you and what're you doing here this late?"

Steve spun around and grasped the charm around his neck even tighter. Feigning a confidence he didn't feel he said, "I've come to stake my Claim."

"Did you now?" 

The man stepped closer, studying Steve with a doubtful expression. His skin was as black as the night sky and he was taller than any man Steve had ever seen. The dark grey cloak of his uniform floated in the wind. Even in the pale light, Steve recognized the golden dragon-shaped clip holding the cloak in place—the badge of the Avengers. 

"Yes, I did," Steve said, raising his chin and trying to make himself look taller than he was. "Shield's sorcerer said that if I made it—"

"You're too late," the man interrupted him. "The Claiming is over." 

Steve gasped and staggered back as if slapped. His heart lurched and twisted inside his chest. "Shield's sorcerer promised. He promised," Steve cried. The sheer force of will that had carried him so far abandoned him. His vision wavered and when blackness came to take him, Steve let it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He woke up disoriented, lying on a bed softer and warmer than any he or his mother could ever have afforded. The room smelled of herbs and wax candles. To the far right he could hear the popping and cracking noises of wooden logs burning. Steve's body was heavy with a pleasant numbness he knew all too well, the kind healers' drugs and spells created to hide pain. For a moment he thought himself back in Brook, his long journey through the mountains nothing but a fever dream.

He opened his eyes carefully, trying to not call attention to himself. The prettiest woman Steve had ever met sat on his bed. She smiled down at him when she saw that he'd awoken. Steve smiled back, tentatively, feeling awkward and clumsy even though he hadn't moved yet. 

"Hello, child," the woman said, brushing the back of her fingers against Steve's forehead as if to check for a fever. "My name is Peggy. What's yours?"

"S-Steve," he stammered and flushed with embarrassment, all too aware of how stupid and young it made him sound. 

"Who told you how to get here, kid?" A man asked, his voice sharp and accusatory. 

Steve jumped in surprise, looking around the room to see who else was there. He could barely make out the tall figure of a man hiding in the shadows beneath the fireplace. Other than him and Peggy the room was empty, but far from easing Steve's dread it made him even more wary. The room was windowless and conspicuously bare. The bed the only piece of furniture Steve could see. There were no chairs or shelves, not even a small table. If it weren't for the fireplace and the sheer size of the place, Steve would have thought he was in a cell. 

"Dragons' maker, Rick, can you try and be any less welcoming? Steve is just a child, not an enemy," Peggy said to the man, before she turned to Steve and added sotto-voice, "Don't mind him. His mother didn't bother to teach him manners, probably knew a lost cause when she saw one." 

"Hilarious," Rick said. "Now, answer my question," he ordered in a tone that brooked no arguments. "Who told you to find this place?" 

"Nobody," Steve said, fighting the urge to hide beneath the covers. He wasn't a child anymore, no matter what Peggy and Rick thought. "One of Shield's sorcerers came to my town like they do every year and—"

"Which town?" Rick interrupted him, stepping forward. The light of the fireplace made him look taller than before, but try as he might, Steve couldn't make out his features. 

"Brook, down by the Grey River," Steve answered. 

The man stalked to the door and threw it open. Two men, armed with crossbows, were standing guard on the other side of the doorway. "One of you," Rick commanded, "find out who we sent to recruit in Brook and get them here." He shut the door before turning back to Steve. "You better hope your story pans out, kid."

Rick's face was hard and wrinkled. His hair was almost gone, and what little still remained was completely white. The shadows hid his eyes, giving his face a sinister gleam that had Steve shrinking back into the bed even as he spoke up defiantly, "I'm not lying." 

"We'll find out soon enough." Rick's mouth curled in a hard and unforgiving line, as if he was looking forward to catching Steve in a lie.

Steve's bravado faltered and he hid his small frame beneath the blankets. He traced his charm with trembling fingers, eying the adults in the room with trepidation, afraid they would rip it off and send him back. 

"Don't worry, child," Peggy said with a kind smile. "Everything is going to be all right."

"Speak for yourself," Rick mumbled, not bothering to lower his voice. 

Peggy didn't dignify his words with an answer, but she threw Rick a scorching glare, which would have had Steve whimpering in fear if it'd been directed at him. Rick ignored it, and for a moment Steve thought he wasn't that clever a man. 

The silence in the room grew heavy. Steve's skin prickled with pent-up tension while he waited. He forced himself to remain still, fighting off the urge to fidget, lest he call Rick's attention back to him. More than once he heard heavy footsteps beyond the door, but they passed by and faded in the distance without slowing down. The door's creak as it finally opened was a welcome change. 

The guards moved aside and a young man stepped in. "It's you!" Steve said, recognizing the short silhouette at once. It was the Shield sorcerer, the one who'd given him the amulet. 

The man turned to Steve and frowned. His eyes darted quickly around the room, taking everything in. He straightened himself and his face smoothed out, effectively masking his thoughts and emotions. 

"I see you made it," he said in an even voice. "Congratulations," he continued in the same flat tone, as if he didn't care a jot. 

"Did you tell this kid how to find Shield, Phil?" Rick asked, pinning the sorcerer with an accusing glare. 

"Tell him?" Phil repeated, still perfectly poised. "No, of course not, that'd be against regulations. He asked to participate and I gave him the amulet, as I did every other kid who asked. Personally, I thought he wouldn't make it, but I've been wrong before. The ways of the Claim are a mystery. If one of the dragons guided him here, then it's not my place to question their choice."

"That's the point," Rick said, pacing back and forth. "A dragon _didn't_ claim him. There are no unclaimed dragons left … and yet, here he is."

"I didn't know that was possible," Phil said, gazing at Steve with a new interest. His voice didn't rise, but the way his eyes bore into Steve reminded Steve of a snake coiled to attack at the slightest provocation. 

Steve didn't need to understand what they were talking about to know that he was in some kind of trouble. There were too many grown-ups in the room, all looking grim and angry. He peeked at the closed door nervously and swallowed quietly when he remembered the guards and their crossbows. Nobody knew where he was, and even if anybody did, they wouldn't bother to come for him. 

"That's because it isn't possible," Peggy said and stood up. "If he made it here, then a dragon called him. It's the only way to find Shield." 

"We've been over this before," Rick said. "All I know is that this kid has found the castle a day after the Claiming ceremony was over. All dragons and future Avengers are accounted for. He isn't one of them. For all we know, he could be a spy for Hydra."

"Don't be ridiculous, Rick," Peggy said and rolled her eyes. "If the Red Skull had found a way to break through the castle's defenses, they would've attacked by now. Besides, the child wasn't brought here by magic; you heard the doctor: a sprained ankle, a broken wrist, too many cuts and bruises to count, not to mention that he was half-starved and practically dehydrated."

"Then how did he make it?" Rick asked. 

"I just kept going," Steve said in a quiet voice, ignoring the way all adults turned to stare at him. "I saw the castle in the distance, and I kept going. Quitting wasn't an option. I was willing to die trying if that was what it took. There's nothing left in Brook for me. Becoming Avenger, coming here, that was all I had left. So I kept going. That's how I made it."

"Hush, child," Peggy said, taking Steve's hand among hers and giving him a squeeze. "We'll find out what's going on."

"It's not that easy," Rick snarled. "Six eggs were laid. Six dragons were born. Six children have claimed them. There's no seventh dragon." 

"What about…," Peggy said and trailed off with a gasp. Her eyes widened and she became rigid.

"What about what?" Rick prompted. 

"The Stark egg," she said in a whisper, as if afraid of her own daring. "It's not accounted for." 

Phil gasped, too, his eyes falling on Steve's. For the fraction of a second, Steve could read the surprise in his face, even if the sorcerer hid it away just as fast. 

Rick huffed out a snort and shook his head dismissively. "The Stark line? Really? Stark hasn't produced a living dragon for over six decades. What does it—Wait a moment, you don't think that it worked this time, do you?"

"It's the only explanation," Peggy said, and when her eyes found Steve's they were bright with hope. 

Rick turned to Phil, "Keep an eye on the child! Don't let him leave, and make sure nothing happens to him," he ordered before he hurried out of the room. 

Peggy took the time to tuck a loose strand of Steve's hair behind his ear and kissed him on the forehead. "Rest, Steve. You might need your strength soon enough," she said before she, too, left the room, closing the door behind her. 

Steve touched the spot of skin she had kissed and blushed, his stomach twisting with an odd feeling he didn't recognize and wasn't sure if he liked or not. He caught Phil watching him and tried to hide his discomfort. "Do you think they'll find my dragon?" he asked, timidly. 

"We'll see," Phil answered, watching Steve doubtfully, "A Stark's Avenger, it figures. Well, if history got it right, you're in for it. You won't have an easier time riding a Stark than you did finding this place, kid. Starks are too intelligent and strong-willed." 

"Isn't that a good thing?" Steve asked, confused. 

"Not in dragons it isn't," Phil said. "Give me an Agent every time, obedient to a fault. They do as they're told without questioning their rider. Best breed there is."

Steve didn't know what to say so he remained quiet. Deep down he thought it wouldn't be bad, having a clever dragon as a companion. Besides, if the adults were right, it was his dragon who had brought him here. For that, Steve was willing to forgive all and any faults. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what his dragon would look like, what it'd be like to ride it. 

'Steve, the Avenger'—it had a nice ring to it, he thought. Down in Brook no one would believe it. He would help Shield protect the kingdom against invaders. He and his dragon would be the bravest and cleverest of them all, fighting for Erdath, defeating those stupid enough who dared attack it. Maybe one day he'd even fly down to Brook. He'd be wearing the Avenger's uniform, of course: the cape with its golden dragon-shaped pin, the leather gauntlets and the shield. Everyone would stare at him in awe. Even the children who constantly teased him for being weak and sick would gape at him in wonder. Then, he'd take his dragon high into the sky and they would fly back to Shield and a life filled with adventures.


	2. The Last Stark

Steve woke up again to a whisper of voices. He was confused at first, not realizing he had fallen asleep to begin with, unable to remember when his imagination had given way to the realm of dreams. 

"Don't wake him up," Phil was saying. "He's still recovering and needs rest." 

Steve was careful to remain silent, trying to keep his breathing even. He'd been bed ridden enough during his childhood to have learned that adults only spoke the truth about his condition when they thought he was unconscious or asleep.

"I will wait until he wakes up before I speak to him," another voice said. It was deep and raspy, with a strange accent Steve had never heard before. Steve didn't know any foreigners, nobody ever bother to visit Brook. Mr Delano, who had been a merchant in his youth, would often tell the children tales of the market in D'Manfel. He'd said that foreigners didn't know how to speak properly and often sang their words off-key. Steve had never quite believed him, having a hard time imagining a place where people didn't know how to speak, but listening to the new voice, he wondered if maybe Mr Delano hadn't been lying after all. 

"All right," Phil said. "Make sure he doesn't do anything rash when he hears the news."

The other man didn't answer, but he must have acknowledged Phil's words somehow for minutes later Phil left the room, shutting the door and leaving Steve and the stranger alone. 

"You can stop pretending. It's not as if you can fool me," the man said the moment Phil's footsteps could no longer be heard. "Stand up. I want to get a good look at you."

Steve opened his eyes, surprised to have been caught. He was usually a good faker. An older man with black hair streaked with silver stood over his bed. He was short but wiry, filled with a quiet strength that didn't require muscles to assert itself. There was an odd stillness to his frame, as though his skin couldn't quite contain him and he didn't dare breathe or blink lest he burst at the seams. 

Warily, Steve pushed the bed sheets away and rose. Someone had dressed him in a white nightgown before putting him to bed. It fitted him better than any he had ever owned before, even if it only served to highlight how scrawny a child he was. A dark red light pulsed around Steve's right wrist, and when he tried to move his hand, an invisible force held it in place, allowing just the tips of his fingers to wriggle. 

He looked up, reluctantly meeting the eyes of the stranger. 

"You don't look like much," the man said, studying him back with a blank expression. "What do they call you?"

"Steve." 

"Not a bad name." The man circled Steve, pinching the skin of Steve's forearms and twisting Steve's head this way and that as he talked. "I've heard worse. You don't look like much of a rider, though." 

Steve bristled and pushed the stranger's hands away, taking a step back and squaring his shoulder. "I am too a rider. I made it here, and that's what counts." 

"Well, at least you have the temper," the man said, amused. "I was starting to wonder if they'd been wrong, not that it matters. He chose _you_ , and that's all I care about. Follow me." 

"Where are you taking me?" Steve asked not moving an inch. He'd hoped that maybe Peggy would be the one to come back for him. Steve wouldn't have minded going with her. He didn't trust the others. 

"You'll see when we get there," the stranger said. He looked around the room for a moment, before walking towards a dark corner and coming back with Steve's worn leather shoes. "Put them on," he said. "Human feet are easily hurt." 

"I'm not going anywhere with you." Steve raised his chin in defiance, refusing to take the proffered shoes. "I don't even know your name." 

The man snorted. "Yes, a Stark's Avenger through and through. I should know. You couldn't pronounce my name even if you wanted. But you can call me Howard if you must; it's what the others do. Come along then." 

"Are you a Stark's Avenger, too?" Steve asked, watching the man—Howard—with renewed interest, even though he wasn't wearing the Avenger's uniform or the dragon-shaped pin.

"No," Howard said in a harsh tone that didn't invite further questions. "Follow me or don't, but if you stay here, tomorrow at noon they'll send you back to your town and you won't be able to stop them."

Steve's stomach dropped with dread. "They didn't find my dragon, did they?" he asked in a quiet voice, even though he knew the answer. Good things never happened to him.

"Your dragon is dead," Howard said brusquely. "Now, come along." 

"What for? Without a dragon they won't let me stay." Steve clenched his fists and swallowed back the tears that wanted to break free. He would not cry again; he hadn't even met his dragon. There was no point in crying. It wouldn't change anything. 

"Listen to me." Howard grabbed Steve's chin between his fingers in a cruel grip and forced Steve's head up. "You were called here by a Stark dragon; that makes you a Stark's Avenger. The last one of the line. I don't care what Rick or the Council has to say on the matter. They won't send you away. I _won't_ allow it. Do you understand?" 

"Yes," Steve gasped out, too scared to move. 

"Good," Howard said and let go of Steve. He walked out of the room at a fast pace, not bothering to look back. 

Steve grabbed the discarded shoes and ran after him. If Howard could find a way to let Steve stay, he'd do anything, no matter the price. 

He caught up with Howard a couple of minutes later. "Wait, wait for me," Steve gasped, wheezing for air. His ankle throbbed with something that wasn't quite pain, even though Steve knew it was just the healer's spell masking the sensation. 

Howard slowed down but didn't stop. "We don't have time to waste," he said, annoyed. "The guards will be back any moment. It won't take them long to figure out I sent them on a wild-goose chase."

Steve ran faster, trying his best to ignore the burning in his lungs. 

"Don't breathe so loud," Howard snapped, coming to a sudden stop. 

"Easy for you to say," Steve snapped back.

"Be quiet!" Howard snarled, a guttural sound that wasn't quite human. He stood still, nostrils flaring, mouth slightly open, as if he could taste the night air. He grabbed Steve's arms and dragged him behind a marble statue, placing the palm of his hand over Steve's mouth and whispering, "Don't move. Someone is coming." 

Steve was sure everyone in the castle could hear his loud heartbeat. Howard definitely could. The older man placed his free hand over Steve's chest and pressed. "Calm down," he hissed and his hands flared with an orange-reddish light. 

A rush of warmth traveled through Steve's body. His breathing eased and his heartbeat slowed. A sense of content lethargy took hold of him, as if he'd been dozing in the sunlight of a perfect summer day for too long and couldn't quite find the will to wake up properly. His eyelids grew heavy, closing on their own accord and he nodded off against Howard's chest. 

"Yeah, that's it, let go of your fear." Howard eased his hold on Steve, turning him around. His eyes glowed yellow in the darkness of the corridor, with cat-like pupils that Steve didn't remember having seen before. ' _I must be dreaming,_ ' he thought, but couldn't make himself wake up. 

"You're an Avenger now. Fear will only harm you," Howard whispered in a strange language Steve didn't understand—except that he did. He frowned; something wasn't right. Howard hadn't spoken at all. Steve would have surely seen his lips move, but Howard's mouth was close and his face remained motionless, like an ill-fitted mask … and yet, Steve could still hear Howard's voice, warm and compelling, filling Steve's dreams with promises of times to come. Steve tried to rouse himself again but couldn't. Instead he fell deeper and deeper into his dream, lulled by Howard's whispers.

"You will look after him when I'm no longer here, won't you?" Howard said. 

"Master Howard, I will not remain in Shield if you go," another voice answered. Steve wanted to look around but he couldn't open his eyes. 

"I'm sorry, old friend, but I can't carry this burden any longer." Howard's voice was filled with sorrow. "I wish I could have given you a son, one worthy of you. Instead, all you have is the broken shell that I am." 

"You're too hard on yourself, Master Howard." 

"I haven't been hard enough, or I would have ended this farce decades ago." Howard's fingers felt cold and rough against Steve's cheek. "The boy will have to do, Jarvis."

"And he will. He'll be Shield's best Avenger." 

"This one?" Howard asked with disbelief. "He doesn't look all that strong."

"Ah, but he knows the value of strength and compassion. When the time comes, it will serve him well. Before you leave, give him the shield." 

"The shield? What use is the shield without a dragon?" Howard asked. 

After a moment of silence Jarvis answered, "I don't know yet. The Stark bloodline isn't as strong as it used to be, and I'm no longer able to pierce the darkness of the future, but I remember a time when I still could. When the shield was first forged, centuries ago, it was forged for this boy. All who came before him were only regents. The boy is the shield's true master."

"Then how come you will leave him alone?" Howard demanded.

"I'm needed elsewhere. Do not worry so, Master Howard, I will return one day after having traveled the world."

Howard laughed. "Oh, the only regret I have is that I won't be alive to watch the Council's faces when they realize that they've lost you and the Stark line all in one day." 

"The Council can't lose me. After all, I was never theirs. The love of a Stark bound me to Shield. The despair of another will set me free. Only the love of a Stark can bind me again."

"There are no more Starks, old friend," Howard whispered. "You shall be free to wander the world for eternity." 

"Eternity is too long a time to wander." 

"Wake up," Howard said, shaking Steve roughly. "They're gone." 

Steve startled awake, grasping at Howard's hands blindly. It took him a moment to even remember where he was or how he'd gotten there. The torches on the walls of the corridors had been quenched and Steve couldn't see anything in the darkness. It scared him, but he found that the fear was easily set aside, manageable. 

"What did you do to me?" he asked Howard.

"You're quite the clever one, aren't you? It's a pity that you … you and him, you would've been magnificent together," Howard said. "Come, we're running out of time." He pulled Steve up and dragged him along.

Steve stumbled after Howard, unable to see where they were going. He lost his footing and fell down. The healer's magic failed when he twisted his already sprained ankle once more. Steve yelled at the sudden flash of pain. 

"Humans are useless," Howard said with a gruff voice and heaved Steve up, sliding beneath him and rising again with Steve on his back. 

Steve clutched instinctively to Howard's back and shoulders, pressing his legs around Howard's waist and holding on. He opened his mouth to protest, but Howard silenced him with a small growl. "Keep your questions for later. We'll be there soon." Just as suddenly, he started to run, fast and silent, as if Steve weighed nothing at all. He rushed up the flights of stairs that curled around and around the columns of the castle, until Steve became dizzy and had to close his eyes and press his head against Howard's shoulder, doing his best to ignore the moving shadows and the too close ceiling. 

Despite his closed eyes, Steve felt it the moment they left the claustrophobic staircase. The crispy air smelled of pine trees and fresh rain. They were on top of one of the castle's towers. The moon still shone on the sky, although lower than it had been when Steve first arrived, its light paling as the first rays of the rising sun started to break through the dark forest on the horizon. Howard, still running at full speed, rushed along the parapet. Steve screamed and clutched helplessly at Howard's shirt as the man leaped over the edge, nothing but air and empty space between them and the earth. Time seemed to slow down, freezing for an instant at the height of Howard's jump, before gravity took hold of the them both and pulled down. 

A reddish yellow light rippled over Howard. His limbs shot out, becoming longer and harder. The shirt Steve had been holding on to burst at the seams, ripping to useless shreds beneath his hands. Howard's skin became rougher and colder, losing its pink human softness, darkening into a deep, scaly red. Howard's neck grew long and wide, too broad for Steve to keep his arms around. Steve dug his fingers into the hard surface. Beneath his feet he could feel more than see, the moment Howard—or what used to be Howard—extended its broad leathery wings and stopped their free fall. They hovered in the air for a moment before Howard's wings flapped again, taking the two of them high into the night sky. 

Steve whooped and his fear transformed into exhilaration. He was flying! Flying on a dragon! Like Avengers did! His amulet pulsed with magic, burning against Steve's skin before it exploded in a flash of light that sank into Steve's chest and traveled through his body, until there wasn't a part of him that hadn't been touched by its magic. For a confusing moment, Steve didn't know where he ended and Howard began. Those were his wings, taking them higher into the night sky. He could feel the fire, deep in his belly, burning warm and comforting. Then, just as sudden, a wave of pain hit him, as if somebody had ripped out his heart and let a gaping, bleeding wound in its wake. Steve gasped and pulled back and the connection closed, like a door slamming into Steve's face, leaving Steve once more alone. 

Howard landed and started to transform again into a human, his skin glowing red with magic.

Steve slid down his back, gasping for breath. "You're hurt," Steve said to Howard, the memory of the searing pain still fresh in his mind. 

"It's an old wound," Howard answered, unconcerned with his nakedness. He seemed more comfortable now than he'd been before, as if the lack of clothes suited him better. "It's nothing for you to worry about. Come, I'll show you the Stark Tower." 

Steve limped after him, curiosity winning over the pain in his ankle. "Are you my dragon?" he asked. 

Howard huffed out a derisive laugh. "I'm nobody's dragon," he said. "Didn't you listen? Your dragon died." 

"But you're a dragon, aren't you?" Steve asked, confused. "Or are you a wizard? Can all Shield's wizards turn into dragons? Will you teach me how to do it?"

"Shut up!" Howard's eyes gleamed yellow and the skin of his face rippled for a moment before it settled down into its human shape. "Humans are not meant to be dragons, do you understand?" he said, seizing Steve's arms and shaking him. 

"I didn't mean to offend you. I'm sorry," Steve said in small, scared voice. 

Howard blinked and let go of Steve. "No, it's me who should apologize. I—it's a sore point. Humans and dragons are two separate species for a reason. It should stay like that." 

"But you're both," Steve pointed out bravely, even as he braced himself for another violent outburst. 

Howard didn't move. He didn't even look at Steve, his gaze lost in the distance. "I'm neither," he said with bitterness. "I'll never be a human, and now I'm not even a dragon."

"You are too," Steve said, remembering the exhilarating moment when Howard transformed and they stopped falling. The tips of his fingers still tingled with the ghost memory of the hard, scaly skin of the dragon. 

Howard did look at him, then, a fond smile grazing his lips even though it didn't touch his eyes. "Such stubbornness. You are a Stark rider indeed. Don't ever let anyone say anything different."

"Are you a Stark dragon?" Steve asked. 

For a moment, it seemed as if Howard wasn't going to answer, but after a moment he said, "Yeah, the last one. We were once a powerful race, the Starks. The strongest of all dragon lines. Our blood sang with magic. Everything we touched, we could change. Our enemies feared us, and our allies respected us. I wish you'd have been born back then, while Erskine was still alive." Howard chuckled and ruffled Steve's hair with affection. "He would have liked you."

"Who was he?" Steve asked after a brief hesitation. 

"My rider," Howard said. He turned around suddenly and walked into the tower, faster than Steve could follow. 

Steve hurried after him, but by the time he made it inside Howard was nowhere to be seen. This part of the castle was different, richer and more extravagant than what Steve had seen so far. The windows were adorned with golden and red brocade, the floor covered in a carpet so thick and soft that it felt as though he was walking on a mattress. The furniture, carved out of a dark, elegant wood with a reddish tint to it, matched the brocade curtains and the carpet. It wasn't the kind of place Steve would have ever chosen for himself, and yet, as he walked through the richly decorated rooms he felt strangely at home. 

The shrill sound of broken glass caught Steve's attention. He half-limped, half-ran towards the sound. 

"Howard is that you?" he called. 

Howard's laughter, loud and clear, answered him. Steve found him inside a room so long, it could have easily fitted a table for fifty. Howard stood among shards of broken glass, holding a metal shield to his chest. A quick glance around showed Steve the broken case where the shield had been kept. 

"Are you all right?" Steve asked, eying the sharp shards around Howard's bare feet with worry. 

"Never better," Howard said. "Here, this is for you," he said, throwing the shield towards Steve, who caught it automatically. 

A rush of magic rippled through him the moment Steve's fingers touched the metal. It was as if he'd found a piece of himself he didn't know was missing. The shield was beautiful: concentric circles of red and white metal with a white star in the middle. It vibrated with magic, pulsing in rhythm with Steve's heartbeat. 

"I can't possibly keep this," Steve said with reluctance, unwilling to give back the shield, but knowing better than to hold onto it. He couldn't pay for it. 

"Of course you can. The shield is meant to be wielded by the leader of the Starks' Avengers. You're the only rider of the line." Howard shrugs. "That makes you its owner."

"I'm not an Avenger," Steve said. "My dragon died. Without a dragon, I—."

Howard interrupted him. "If I can be a dragon without a rider, then you can be an Avenger without a dragon."

"It's not the same," Steve protested. "You belong to Shield. No one will question your place here. Sooner or later they will send me back."

"No, they won't," Howard said. The edge of steel in his voice took Steve aback. "You're the last one. If they want the magic and protection of the Starks, they will keep you here. And believe me, they do. We might not be what we once were, but we're still Starks. Shield is nothing without us." He approached Steve and traced the edge of the shield's metal with his fingers. "This is Shield's symbol, and it will only answer to you. They can't send you away, and they will figure it out soon enough. They need you more than you need them. Don't let them make you believe otherwise. Do you understand?"

Steve shook his head. 

"Never mind," Howard said. "One day you will. I'll show you your room. You should rest some more. Tomorrow will be a trying day. It's not an easy burden, being the last of the Starks." 

"There's you, too," Steve pointed out. 

"Not for long," Howard said. 

"Ar-are you ill?" Steve asked with trepidation. Howard's voice had that same final tone that Steve's mom had had before last winter took her for good. 

"I'm just tired. Don't worry. Everything will be fine," Howard said. "Come on, I'll take you to your room. Then I'll go flying one more time. I'd forgotten how good it felt."

"May I go with you?" Steve asked, worry forgotten at the prospect of flying once more. 

"No, not this time," Howard said and kissed Steve's forehead. Steve thought it was in apology. The next day, he would learn that it'd been a good-bye.


	3. Fire over Gulmira

"Don't," Steve said, without looking up.

"I wasn't doing anything," Bucky lied. The shadow of his hand stopped moving, but it still hovered too close to the parchment for Steve's comfort. 

"If you touch the ink before it dries, I will eviscerate you," Steve said, not raising his voice.

Bucky chuckled. "Eviscerate? Never heard that word before." 

"Hilarious. I bet you haven't heard that one either." 

"You're a cruel man, Steve," Bucky mock-whined. "I just wanted to look at the drawings. They're much better than the original. You can recognize it's a dragon now, before it looked like a misshaped salamander with a huge head." 

Steve bit back his smile, not wanting to give Bucky the satisfaction. "The works of Healer Greenish are among the best treatise on dragon's medicine. It's an honor to be the one to copy them." 

"I'll take your word for it. He still couldn't draw to save his life." Bucky slid his hand closer, and Steve swatted it away before he could touch anything. 

Steve finished tracing the last line of the dragon's tail and put his quill down, careful to not spill any of the ink. Two more days and he'd be finished copying the manuscript. Steve liked being Shield's scribe. He had the library to himself and more books than he could read in a lifetime, let alone copy. It wasn't what he'd dreamed of as a child, but it wasn't a bad life. 

"Leave the parchment alone," he told Bucky. 

"Don't be like that. See if I let you ride Soldier again." 

Steve rolled his eyes. "As if I need your permission to ride Soldier. That dragon would let the Jotuns themselves ride him if they came with a basket of apples." 

"Hush," Bucky said with a laugh. He leaned forward and added sotto-voice, "Don't tell people my dragon's one and only weakness." 

"I'm pretty sure Soldier has more than one weakness. It chose _you_ after all. If that's not a sign of impending madness, I don't know what is."

Bucky clutched his chest. "With friends like you…," he trailed off. 

"I'm sure Natasha is all compliments and roses whenever she sees you," Steve drawled, taking no small amount of pleasure in Bucky's embarrassed blush. 

"The two of you are impossible," he complained. "I don't know why I do this to myself." 

Steve shrugged. "Neither do I." 

Steve could understand why Bucky liked Natasha. She was not only pretty but also brave and intelligent, and she was Shield's best dragon rider by far. She and Widow could out fly everyone, and they both knew it. What Steve didn't get was why Bucky insisted on being friends with Steve. 

Steve wasn't even one of them. He bore the title of Avenger in name only—Shield couldn't take it away, not when they needed Steve to keep the magic of the Stark line alive. Shield's sorcerers had been trying for years to find a substitute for Stark's wards to no avail. The Stark dragons were no more, but their legacy was undeniable and it lived within Steve. 

Yes, Steve was tolerated, needed even, but he wasn't one of them. Steve remembered all too well the whispers and muffled laughs whenever he arrived at the training field, barely able to hold the shield Howard had given him. _The boy without a dragon._ Training had been a daily torture. Steve had hated every single moment of it, even as he forced himself to go, unwilling to give the stupid bullies the satisfaction of seeing him beaten. 

Bucky had been the only one who spoke to him. He'd offered Soldier, his dragon, for Steve to practice with. He'd shared his meals with Steve and fought the other children off when they got too rough with him. And when Steve told him he didn't need help, he always pretended to believe him. To this day, Steve couldn't see what had moved Bucky to pick him, but he was grateful nonetheless. 

"You're an idiot," Bucky said, ruffling Steve's hair. "You need to wrap up here anyway. The Council wants to see you." 

Steve leveled a worried glance at Bucky. "What for?" 

Bucky looked around before leaning closer to Steve to whisper, "A dragon without rider was sighted in Gulmira. It flew over the capital and destroyed their military headquarters. It burned over fifty soldiers before the building collapse." 

"A wild dragon?" Steve frowned. "That's impossible; unbonded dragons never make it past their first year." Few people alive knew more about dragons than Steve did. He'd read every book on the subject, as if knowing the theory could compensate for his ultimate lack. 

"The Council knows that," Bucky said. "The dragon isn't one of ours." 

"Dragons are endemic to Erdath. There aren't any other dragons," Steve pointed out. 

"Tell me something I don't know," Bucky said, but the small shake of his head took the bite from his words. 

Steve had the good grace to look chagrined. "What line was it?" he asked. 

Bucky paused before he said, "A Stark."


	4. The Attack

"Let's stop here," Clint said, "Steve needs a break."

"I can keep going," Steve grunted, and forced himself to walk past Clint. 

"Fine." Clint rolled his eyes. " _I_ need a break then. This is a good place to stop. It'll be night soon." 

Phil's eyes wandered from Clint to Steve and back, before skirting over to Natasha and Bucky. Steve ground his teeth. He might not be privy to their silent exchange, but he didn't need to be. It was about him and how he was slowing them down. It was like being a teenager all over again, watching the other kids ride their dragons into the sky and knowing he'd never be one of them. That he'd never be good enough. 

"Let's stop," Phil said, and dropped his backpack. 

Exhaustion washed over Steve, fueling his childish resentment. He dropped down to the ground despite the burning heat of the desert sand. Drops of sweat ran down his spine and his clothes clung to places they shouldn't. Steve hated Gulmira. The vertebrae in his neck cracked loudly as he moved his head and shoulders this way and that, trying to ease the knots of pain in his back. 

"Let me," Bucky said, kneeling next to Steve. He dug his fingers into Steve's shoulders and pressed, releasing some of the tension. 

"I'm fine," Steve complained, and tried to move away. 

"Stop being so damn stubborn," Bucky snapped, forcing Steve back into place and digging his fingers into Steve's muscles with more force than necessary. "We're all tired. This will help. Tomorrow we have another long day ahead of us."

"Or I could call Hawk," Clint suggested for what felt like the hundredth time. "We could be out of here just like that." He snapped his fingers. 

Phil rubbed his face in exasperation. "We can't," he said in a flat tone. "We're still in the Seven Rings' territory. There's been a dragon attack already. If they spot another dragon, it'll be as good as a declaration of war. We can't risk it."

"Hawk can do stealth. We wouldn't be seen," Clint insisted, even though Steve didn't know how anyone, let alone a dragon, could hide in the empty nothingness surrounding them. 

"We've been over this." Phil didn't bother to raise his voice. "We'll call the dragons when we're back in Erdath. Stop whining." 

Bucky snorted. "Worth a try," he murmured, but not low enough that Steve didn't hear it. 

Phil's attention zeroed in on Bucky. "Help Natasha and Clint with dinner," he ordered. Phil waited until Bucky was beside Natasha before he moved to Steve's side, settling himself carefully on the hot sand. 

Steve tensed. "What is it?" he asked warily. 

"Let me see the charm," Phil said in a bland tone, as if it was a request instead of an order. 

Steve handed over the dragon pendant the Council had given him. "It doesn't work. I've tried everything." 

"Who's the sorcerer here?" Phil raised a challenging eyebrow. He studied the pendant carefully, murmuring words and touching the gemstones this way and that. Nothing happened. Phil sighed. "It doesn't make any sense. The charm is active, and yet it refuses to work. Are you sure you don't feel anything? Not even a small tug?"

"How many times do I have to say it," Steve snapped. "There's nothing. It's dead!" 

"Calm down," Phil rebuked him. "We'll figure out what's going on. You were in city with us. There are dozens of eye witnesses that saw a red dragon flying over the Seven Rings' palace." 

"Yeah, dozens of witnesses saw a dragon attack, but nobody saw him arrive or leave. Have you considered that this might be a trap? One we're walking into? Willingly." 

"It's a risk we need to take," Phil said. "Here, put it back on." He gave the pendant back to Steve. "Let me know if anything changes." 

"Nothing is going to change," Steve mumbled. He wouldn't let himself believe. He'd spent all his childhood waiting for a miracle that never came. He was tired of hoping. 

He'd fought long and hard to carve his place inside of Shield, a place that didn't have anything to do with dragons or battles. Most people didn't see it, but being a scribe was an important job, as important as flying a dragon. It wasn't glamorous, but Steve liked it. He loved books and painting, relished the hours of hard work bent over a book copying each one of its words with painstaking accuracy. It was a good life.

"Let's eat something, before we rest for the night," Phil said. 

Bucky refused to let Steve take first watch, claiming he wasn't tired. Steve protested loudly, but Phil ordered him to go to sleep until it was his turn. Except that Steve knew his turn wouldn't come. The others would let him sleep through the night until it was time to leave, just like they'd done every day of their journey, as if Steve was too fragile and useless to pull off his own weight. 

Steve woke up panting for breath and sweating, despite the bitter coldness of the desert night. His teeth and jaw ached with a tension that radiated all the way down to his neck and shoulders. 

"Everything all right?" Natasha asked in a quiet voice. 

"No, yeah, weird dream. That's all." A quick peek showed Steve that the others were still asleep. Natasha's watch was always last.

"Wanna talk about it?" she asked without looking at him. 

"I don't really remember what it was about." Steve sat up and rubbed his face, chasing away the last remains of sleepiness. "I can take over for you, if you want," he offered. 

"No need." Natasha dismissed his offer. "It's almost time to break camp anyway. I'll wake the others. Get an early start."

Steve took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting go of the irrational anger seizing him. He knew they meant well. They just didn't realize how much it bothered him when they treated him as if he was useless. 

Natasha leveled a blank look at him. "We have our orders, Steve," she said in her brusque way. 

"And those are?" 

"To keep you safe. Whatever the price." She shrugged. 

"The Council, of course." Steve clenched his fists. "They wouldn't want their little Stark puppet to get hurt." 

Natasha cuffed the back of Steve's head. "Don't be silly. There's more at stake than your sensibilities. If we lose you, the defenses of the castle fail. What do you think the Jotuns will do then? Or the Seven Rings?"

"Why let me leave at all?" Steve asked bitterly, even though she had a point, but knowing his anger was misplaced didn't make it any less real.

"They want that dragon, and you're their only hope of getting it." She stood up and stretched like a graceful cat. Then she walked to Clint and kicked him on the side. 

"What the fuck?" Clint protested, waking up immediately. He glared at Natasha while he rubbed his arm. "That wasn't necessary." 

"But it was fun," Natasha countered. "Time to leave." 

Clint turned to check on Steve. "You're awake," he said with surprise. "Cool. We can start early then. The sooner we make it past the border, the sooner we can summon our dragons."

Steve bit back his retort and started packing his things, doing his best to ignore them. 

Their journey was grueling. The sun hadn't risen yet, and Steve discovered that the cold winds of the desert night were just as bad as the burning heat of the day to move through. Steve didn't know which one he preferred. He was lost in his thoughts, yearning for Erdath's milder temperatures when Bucky tackled him, screaming, "Watch out!" 

Magic hissed through the air, a sound that wasn't quite a sound. It struck the ground where Steve had stood only a second before. The sand exploded in a long furrow, crackling and freezing in the air, raining down around Steve and Bucky in a shower of jagged shards of ice. Steve struggled beneath Bucky, all of his air driven out of his lungs by the fall, and Bucky's protective bulk kept him from drawing a single full breath.

Bucky rolled off Steve and dragged him away, sword moving so fast that it seemed like a blur, cutting through their attackers, forcing them to retreat. Jotun blood gushed around them, spraying Steve with its icy coldness, chilling him to the marrow of his bones. It vaporized almost immediately, covering the battlefield with a bluish mist that gave their attackers an even bigger advantage. 

They were surrounded. The red gleam of the creatures' eyes pierced through the mist as they closed on them. Natasha and Clint fought back-to-back, outnumbered three to one. Four other Jotuns were herding Steve and Bucky away, trying to separate them from the group, while the rest threw themselves at Phil like possessed creatures, intent on killing him. Phil kept firing spell after spell without pausing. Three Jotuns lay already on the ground, their corpses melting away to nothing, soaking the dry sand. Another one screamed in pain, trying to rip away his own leg to stop the flames of Phil's spell from spreading to his groin and stomach. 

"We need to get to Phil," Steve said to Bucky, grasping the Jotuns' strategy. "We're lost without a sorcerer and they know it." 

"Easier said than done," Bucky grunted, parrying with his shield a brutal blow that sent him stumbling into Steve. The Jotun shouted in victory, rushing them. Bucky pushed Steve away and rolled to his feet, bringing up his sword and using the giant's own momentum to impale it. It howled with rage and pain as it seized Bucky's arm and squeezed. The crunching sound of Bucky's bones breaking, followed by Bucky's scream of pain galvanized Steve into action. 

He rose up and ran towards Bucky, sidestepping another Jotun coming at him. He picked up Bucky's discarded shield and used it as protection as he threw himself at the giant pinning Bucky and dislodged its hold. Steve pushed the shield into the creature's chest and yanked the sword out with his free hand. He brought it down again, this time on the soft flesh of its throat. The blue blood sprang up like a fountain, before it turned into an icy mist, stinging at Steve's exposed skin. 

Steve turned around, sword in hand. He had barely enough time to raise his shield against another Jotun's attack. The ice spike coming out of the Jotun's hand crashed against the shield and one of Steve's knees gave out with the force of the impact. Steve thrust his sword upward, piercing the creature's stomach. He dragged the blade up, slicing through skin and muscle until the sword scraped against bone, widening the wound before he pulled the sword out and prepared to deliver the final blow. 

"Freeze," someone said in a calm, detached voice and the battle came to an abrupt stop. Steve stood stock-still, sword half-raised, unable to move. A deep chuckle broke through the sudden silence. "I've always wanted to say that," the voice said. "I so love a good pun." 

From the corner of his eye Steve saw a Jotun approaching. It was smaller than its companions but they all stepped back when it came near, bowing to it. Steve couldn't blink, couldn't even swallow, the mysterious spell holding him in place, even though every instinct in his body was screaming at him to flee. 

The giant stopped in front of Steve and grinned at him. "I've spent the last ten years looking for you, Steve. You're a difficult man to find." As it spoke its skin lost the blue hue of the Jotuns, taking on the off-white color of humans in the North. Its eyes changed from red to green and its hair started to grow out until it reached its shoulders, jet-black and straight, gleaming with magic. 

"Bring me the sorcerer," it ordered, voice distinctly male. Human. 

Two Jotuns approached, carrying Phil between them. Had Steve been able to, he would have gasped. The front of Phil's armor was drenched with red blood, a trickle of it ran down the corners of his mouth and his eyes were glassy and unfocused. He coughed up even more blood as the Jotuns threw him at their leader's feet. 

"Loki," Phil gasped, " … should have known." 

Steve's heart skipped a bit. He'd never met Loki before, safe inside the Shield's walls, but everyone had heard of him, the prince of the Jotuns, whose magic was so powerful even the Aesir feared him. Loki's father and brothers had been killed during the final battle between Asgard and Jotunheim. Loki himself had been no more than a child at the time, but the pain of the loss had fueled his magic, giving it strength beyond reason. He'd called a snowstorm so cold and brutal that the Aesir had been forced to retreat. A third of their army froze to death before they could make it across the border. 

A wall of ice and magic had risen to keep the Jotun sealed off from the rest of the world. No one had heard or seen from them for decades, until twenty years ago. Loki had appeared, attacking a small town in Erdath. He'd killed half of the town's inhabitants before the Avengers had managed to force him to retreat. The attacks had continued in the years since, deadly and impossible to predict. Loki had refused to even acknowledge Shield's attempts to negotiate a truce. The only good thing that came out of it was that after decades ignoring Erdath, Asgard had finally agreed to sign an alliance against Jotunheim. 

"Yes, you should have known," Loki said. He placed his boot on top of Phil's wound and pressed down, his lips curling up with pleasure. "Though it wouldn't have helped you, would it? Sighting of a red dragon? Your silly Council would have sent you hear regardless." He laughed out loud, before turning his eyes to Steve. "Bring the others!" he commanded without looking away. 

The giants hurried to obey. They dropped Natasha, Clint and Bucky next to Phil. Their bodies were as powerless and helpless as Steve's own. 

"Perfect," Loki said. "Shield sent you to protect your little relic of a blood line. It's only fair that you witness its destruction." He opened his right hand and a scepter materialized in it. It pulsed blue with the Jotun's magic, cold and deadly. Loki walked to Steve, his grin broadening as he moved closer. He placed a cold hand on Steve's chest and pushed. Steve's unresponsive body toppled over, landing on his friends.

"There now," Loki said, voice dripping with fake pity. "I took away your power to move, but I wouldn't be as cruel as to deprive you of the privilege of _feeling_ the last of the Starks die." Loki placed the tip of the specter against Steve's chest, on top of the silver pendant the Council had given him. 

"Now, now, don't glare at me like that. You won't miss anything important. The moment you die the Stark's defenses will crumble and Shield will be ripe for the taking. And take it I will. First Shield, then Erdath and finally _Asgard_. You're nothing but the first step." Blue light started to gather in the scepter, becoming brighter and brighter with every passing second. 

"It's time for you to meet your dragon, Steve. The real one, not the illusion I crafted to lure you here. Don't forget to send my regards," Loki said and the world around Steve exploded into light.


	5. The Healer

"Damn it, he's waking up again," a distant voice cursed. Steve tried to call out for help, but his voice didn't work. After a while he stopped trying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Go back to sleep," Natasha said when Steve focused his blurry sight on her. "I'll keep watch."

"It's my turn," Steve protested half-heartily, too tired to fight her over it. She'd win in the end. She always did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wake up." A soft warmth rippled through Steve, almost like a caress.

Steve mumbled happily and settled further into the bed. 

"None of that now," someone said, shaking Steve's shoulders. "Miss Killer here is threatening to cut my head off if you don't wake up soon."

"I never said that," Natasha said, voice clipped.

"Right, you didn't need to. I got the message loud and clear regardless."

Steve squinted at the bright light, confused about his surroundings. He must have made some kind of noise, because the banter stopped immediately. 

Natasha's face hovered over him, her mouth pinched with worry. "Do you know where you are?" 

"No," Steve said after a small pause. 

"That's good," a man said, stepping into Natasha's personal space and forcing her to step back. "I need space to work. Who's the healer here?" he groused, his attention already on Steve. 

Natasha scowled at the man. Steve had seen bigger and stronger warriors cowering in fear at that look, but the man didn't even acknowledge it. Dexterous hands traveled over Steve's body, stopping at Steve's wrists, chest, neck, ribs. Steve kept expecting the healer to ask for permission or at least warn him, but he never did. 

"Who are you?" Steve snapped, annoyed at the man's audacity to treat Steve's body as if it was his own. It'd taken Steve years to train that habit out of Shield's healers and he wasn't going to start from zero again.

"The reason you're alive. Name's Tony," the man answered absently, dismissing Steve. 

"Well, _Tony_ , I didn't give you leave to touch me," Steve said surly. 

Tony stopped. His whole attention shifted. His dark eyes bored into Steve and his upper lip curled in disdain. "My apologies, Captain Iceberg," he said haughtily. "Next time a bunch of frozen, dying strangers appear on my property uninvited, I'll make sure to wait until they give me _leave_ to touch them … or until they die, whichever comes first." He turned to Natasha. "He's all yours. I have other patients to attend." 

Natasha grabbed Tony's arms as he passed her by. "Is he all right?" 

"I don't know." Tony shrugged. "And I don't care. If he doesn't want a healer, he doesn't get a healer." 

"I'm warning you—" 

"What?" Tony asked, rising his chin in challenge. "What are you going to do? Kill me? You need me, and we both know it. Don't waste my time with useless threats. He'll live, thanks to me, but it seems gratitude is overrated these days." 

Natasha's fingers dug harder into Tony's arms, until even Steve felt like wincing, but Tony stood his ground. After a moment Natasha snorted and let him go. "Fine, go see to Phil."

"If you want a servant, you call Pepper," Tony snapped and walked away. 

"I'm surprised you haven't killed him yet," Steve commented after Tony left the room. 

"He's very good at what he does" Natasha said. "And he's right. We do need him," she admitted with reluctance. 

"Where are we? What happened?"

"The good news is: we're in Erdath. The bad news is: we're in Kali."

"Kali? How in the seven kingdoms did we get here? The last thing I remember was Loki's spell." Kali was as far away from Shield as you could get without leaving Erdath. Even with a dragon, it'd take them two days flying to reach the castle. 

"I don't know," Natasha said. "Phil used the last of his strength to fire a spell at Loki just before he tried to kill you. The spells connected. The next thing I remember is waking up here." 

"What would Phil send us to Kali of all places?"

"I don't know. He hasn't woken up yet."

"Is he going…?" Steve trailed off, his voice breaking. 

"Tony stabilized him." A flicker of worry crossed over her face before she ruthlessly erased it. 

"Do you think he can heal Phil?" 

"I've asked around," Natasha said. "Everyone says he's the best healer in the region. Some go as far as to say that he's the best healer in all of Erdath."

"Let me guess, Tony himself?" Steve ventured. 

Natasha huffed a small laugh. "No, Tony claims he's the best healer in the _seven kingdoms_ , a genius." 

"How are the others?" 

Her expression sobered. "Clint's fine. He's making sure Loki can't find us, even though we don't believe he'll brave an attack on Erdath so soon." Natasha stopped, not meeting Steve's eyes. 

"Bucky?" Steve asked, terrified of the answer.

"He lost the arm," she said after a small hesitation. "The bones were shattered and the flesh was putrid with frostbite. It was too late to do anything."

"I thought you said Tony was the best healer in the region," Steve said, clenching his fists. "Maybe another healer can—"

"The fact that Bucky is alive at all is a miracle. The frostbite had already extended to his chest. I saw how much magic it took to make it retreat just that much. Steve, Tony wasn't lying when he said you were frozen. Whatever spell Loki cast, it turned you into ice. Literally. I saw it. If it hadn't been for Tony, you wouldn't be here. None of Shield's healers could do what he did. "

"You want him," Steve said, recognizing that calculating look in her eyes. 

"For Shield. Yes," she admitted. "We _need_ him. He has the strongest magic I've ever seen, stronger than all of Shield's sorcerers together." 

"Wow, you'd think he's the coming of the second Jarvis," Steve joked. 

Natasha's expression remained blank. 

Steve gaped at her. "That's impossible." 

She spun around with that breathtaking speed Steve had always envied her. He only realized that she'd pulled out a knife when he saw it fly across the room towards the open doorway. A red light shimmered over the door and the knife collided with it. It fell to the floor with a loud clank, harmless. 

"How?" he breathed out. 

"He cast the protective spells himself," Natasha said. 

"But that's … you need dragon blood to power those spells. Stark blood."

"That's what I thought, too. But the spells are based on human's blood—Tony's human blood." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Don't be rude. Of course I'm sure." In other words, she'd investigated the place and Tony and found out everything there was to find out about both while the rest of them slept. Typical. 

"There's never been a dragon in this house. I would have sensed it. So would have Clint, for that matter. The spells are all Tony's." 

"Do you think he'll come with us back to Shield?" Steve asked. 

Natasha's answering smile was frosty. "Who says I'm giving him a choice?" She walked to the door and picked up her knife before leaving.


	6. New Beginnings

"There you are," Tony said, stopping next to Steve at the edge of the cliff. Below them the waves of Kali's ocean crashed against the rocky shore again and again. Steve loved the smell of the sea, the salty taste of the air, the way Kali's sun caressed his skin, driving away the chill in his bones. 

"Here I am. What can I do for you?" Steve asked warily, tearing his attention away from his drawing and focusing on Tony, surprised the man had bothered to search for him at all. Tony had made it quite clear that he didn't like Steve much. 

"Tell me about Shield," Tony said like someone used to being catered to and obeyed. 

That careless arrogance grated on Steve's nerves, made him want to push back, counter slight with slight. "And you care about my opinion because…?"

"I don't," Tony shrugged. "But I don't quite buy what the others are selling either. I figured you'd give me all the gory details. It's not as if you'd want me to tag along." 

Steve bit down the first retort that came to his lips. Tony was right. Steve didn't want the healer traveling back with them, but contrary to what Tony believed, Steve knew to put the needs of others over his own. As much as it pained him to admit it, if only to himself, Tony was the strongest sorcerer they'd ever met, even Phil—who funnily enough seemed to dislike the man as much as Steve did—had admitted it. 

Steve thought of the dying defenses of the castle, hanging on the thin threat of Steve's life. Loki had known; he'd targeted Steve for this reason. Shield _needed_ Tony's knowledge, his power, his _magic_. Steve wouldn't jeopardize that.

So Steve told Tony about the children and the dragons, the constant smell of burning fire and old stones. He spoke of the beauty of the castle, its hidden corridors and spires; the long winter nights sitting in the library; the summer days watching the children fly and painting them; the hours on end spent in the library copying manuscript after manuscript, doing his best to preserve the little pieces of history under his care. Without meaning to, he ended up sharing with Tony all the small things that made him happy at Shield, even though they hadn't been the things he'd dreamed of finding there. 

"You've got great talent," Tony commented, bringing Steve back to the present. 

Only then did he realize that Tony had picked up his discarded drawings and was leafing through them. 

"Thank you," he said and flushed, not sure if he should feel embarrassed or pleased. It wasn't the same as showing a manuscript. Those drawings were _his_. Most weren't even finished. Steve wasn't ready to share them. He tried to pry the drawings away from Tony, but Tony laughed at him and danced away, keeping them out of reach. 

"Give them back," Steve demanded, chuckling despite himself at Tony's childish antics. 

"No, I want to see." Tony protected the parchment with his body, moving whenever Steve tried to reach around him. "Don't think I didn't notice you spying on me while I was healing Phil."

"I wasn't spying," Steve protested. "I only wanted to see how—"

"And I just want to see your art. It's fair," Tony said, triumphant. 

"It's not the same," Steve said, but it lacked conviction.

"It totally is and you know it," Tony crowed. 

"All right," Steve said, surprising even himself. "But you can only look at them here and you have to give them back immediately."

"Really?" Tony eyed him with suspicion.

"Really," Steve sighed, resigned. 

"Thank you," Tony said. "Let's sit down then." He pulled Steve down with him and started going through the sketches, asking questions about the places and the people. Once more Steve found himself sharing more than he meant to, unsure as to why. 

"Which dragon is this?" Tony gasped, holding a drawing of Steve himself, dressed in full Avenger regalia, wielding the Stark's Shield. Next to Steve, proud and beautiful, stood a crimson dragon with yellow eyes. "Wh-what's that on his chest?" His fingered hovered uncertainly over the talisman embed on the dragon's harness.

As usual, Steve ached with longing when he saw the picture. At Shield everyone knew better than to ask. Steve hesitated for a while, before deciding to answer. He stared into the horizon, refusing to meet Tony's eyes. "When I first came to Shield, I—" Steve trailed off. He gathered his courage and started again. Better for Tony to learn the story from him than from Shield's rumor mill. "He was going to be my dragon, but he died after hatching. He never grew up at all. I just—sometimes I like to imagine what he might have looked like if he had. The drawing isn't real. Dragon, talisman, Avenger's uniform. I made it all up."

Tony traced the lines of the harness with his finger, stopping over the talisman for a moment before starting again, as if mesmerized. "It looks so real." 

Steve kept waiting for the wave of anger that usually came when others touched his drawings to arrive, but it never did. "I used to dream about him when I was younger," he confessed. It was something he'd never told anyone. "But even in my dreams, he'd never let me ride him." Steve smiled at the memory, surprised that it no longer hurt. "Meet Steve, the dragonless Avenger." His laughter came out more bitter than he intended. 

Tony smiled tentatively at him. "Look at the bright side. He probably would have been a terribly opinionated and conceited. You wouldn't have liked him at all." 

Steve laughed out loud, surprising himself. "Actually, that's pretty much every Stark dragon that has ever existed, or so I've been told." 

"Well, there, you're better off without him." 

"I doubt it." Steve shrugged, still smiling. "Not that it matters." After a brief pause Steve added, "Tony, I—it's not true what you said earlier … I know my opinion doesn't matter much to you, but for what it's worth, I do want you to come with us."

Tony's eyes widened, surprise written all over his face. "Your opinion matters more than you think, Steve."

"Thank you."

"May I keep this drawing?" Tony asked after a small hesitation. 

"Only if you come with us." Steve tried to make a joke of it. 

"Then you've got yourself a deal." Tony stood up before Steve could protest. "I guess I need to tell Pepper to pack." Tony waived goodbye. "See you later, Captain Iceberg." 

For once, Tony's silly nickname didn't feel like a taunt, but like a promise. Steve snorted and shook his head, imagining Tony at Shield, driving Nick and the Council crazy. 

He couldn't wait.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And don't forget to let **seasaltpepper.tumblr.com** know how you liked her art


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